


And Maybe Even After That Too

by PaulineHolmes02



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Caring John Watson, Confused Sherlock Holmes, Dark Sherlock Holmes, Hurt Sherlock Holmes, John Watson Loves Sherlock Holmes, John Watson Takes Care of Sherlock Holmes, M/M, Married John Watson, Mary Morstan is Not Nice, Post-Reichenbach, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson, Virus, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombie Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-02-26 11:10:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18715861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaulineHolmes02/pseuds/PaulineHolmes02
Summary: A dangerous virus has been discovered, a vir, which turns its victim to a rotting monster, greedy for a human flesh. They say it's infectious to animals.Sherlock is acting really strange, he avoids John's presence as much as possible.What if the virus is transmissible to humans?





	1. Back at 221B Baker Street

 

Sherlock was sitting cross-legged in the brown armchair, with a syringe in his forearm. His right leg laid across his pointed bony knee. His elbow stuck in the armpit of the black padded material and his narrow jaw rested on his knuckles.

The anchorman was babbling some nonsense in the television, he was talking about something Sherlock hasn't been paying attention to. Well - one ear and out the other.  
The main reason he switched on the TV was to decrease the feeling of the loneliness, to give himself some false hopes there's someone with him.

  
He sighed as he took a look at the chair he was sitting on.  
John's chair... He would better gaze into the free space instead of the lonely armchair which belonged to his best friend. But he didn't find the courage to put it away, not even in the cellar...  
He simply couldn't stand the sight of the loneliness and emptiness of that furniture, but at the same time, he couldn't stand the image of putting it away.

He curled into a tight ball, as he pressed his bony knees to his chest. He rested curly head on the arm of the chair and inhaled the slight smell of John's vanished presence. The soft material was still scenting lightly like his John, although he didn't live here for two months.  
It was just two months, 60 days since he last saw him, but it seemed like forever for Sherlock.

His nose wrinkled as he remembered the wedding. It was the third worst moment in his life.

At the top of the list sat horrible time abroad, when he was injured scared and alone - which meant being without John.

Then he came back to London, made himself look like a human again and visited John, looking forward to seeing him after those horrible two years. Looking at him, sitting at the table, waiting for some woman with a ring in his pocket felt like a stab in the back. He tried to light up the atmosphere, but all he got was a punch in his face and the bash to his injured wounded back.

The third spot belonged to the wedding - where he had to stand in front of the real people, tell the speech about how perfect John is and concurrently watch the future Mr and Mrs Watson exchange their vows. He had to let Mary Morstan steal the only man in the world who accepted him, the only one he learned to love, for whom the detective became a human.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes in frustration at the memory of the phone call - he was right, his bloody big brother estimated his feelings sooner than the detective himself! But there was no point in denying it... He got involved... Too much...

The flat felt weird without John, it was too quiet and weirdly disordered.

There was no one to complain about body parts in the fridge (he just had a fresh human foot inside - he was sure that John would 'love it'), no 'God-swears', no 'bit-not-good reminders...  
He missed John's typing, the way he wrote on the keyboard with his index fingers always cheered Sherlock up...

And he couldn't hold a smile when he remembered John's T-shirt which reminded more of the bill of fare than the clothing - the doctor has always been a sloppy eater... He had decided then to put on the old T-shirt he didn't mind to smear. It became a swatch of soups, sauces and other meals he failed to carry in his mouth.

His brilliant mind kept serving him the painfully happy memories of their adventures, content moments together and funny stories about two of them.

Sherlock began to feel the effect of the drug, his eyes got heavier by every single second. The power was so strong he couldn't keep his eyelids opened and after a while, he fell into a restless sleep.

 

* * *

 

Sherlock opened his blue-green eyes and blinked a few times to clear his blurry vision. His eyelids were so dry that they had to moisten immediately and keeping them opened became quite problematic.

The massive headache pounded in his head, the stinging pain

He felt absolutely groggy, which was really surprising in his case, he was used to the lack of sleep...

His lean arms and legs ached and it seemed to Sherlock that the herd of elephants had just run across his chest.

He raised his head to examine the surroundings around him.  
The scanty lighting of the living room caused a more intimate atmosphere. The light came out of the lamp in the corner, closer to the door. The rest of the room was darkened, more comfortable for a detective to sleep.

The tall man was laying on the couch, his long thin limbs pulled to his bony chest, his body curled into a tight ball.

The detective frowned a furrowed his eyebrows to concentrate despite the headache, which pounded in his head.  
He didn't remember how he appeared on the couch, he was sure he fell asleep in his armchair. He would remember getting up and moving on the soft sofa...

And he knew that he didn't cover himself with a dark brown blanket which laid on his skinny figure.  
He didn't even need to look at who it belonged to.  
The nice scent of the aftershave water and cologne touched his nose, teased him, mocked him... It belonged to the army doctor, ex-soldier and husband of Mary Morstan. Sherlock would be delighted if the last status wouldn't exist. But he could do nothing about it...

But who wrapped him in the warm fabric? And why would they do that? 'Oh Sherlock, don't be so stupid...' He could almost hear Mycroft's bitter comment about his dull-wittedness, it was one of his brother's favourite things to do...

Sherlock's abdominal muscles flexed as he raised himself into a half-sitting position, resting on his pointed elbows.

" Did you sleep well, Sleeping Beauty?" The nice and comfortable voice for Sherlock's ears said. It was so comforting to hear it again, after months of loneliness.

But even warmer and more soothing was the sight of John Watson sitting in his armchair who was holding some newspapers.

Sherlock rubbed his forehead and ruffled his black hair, which poked out of his head in lots of different angles, it reminded John of the bird's nest. " What time is it?" He asked, his voice cracked from the semi-consciousness.

" It's quarter to nine..."

Sherlock let his long legs down the sofa and put his feet on the carpet. He straightened his aching back and leaned over the backrest. " What are you doing there? Shouldn't you be with your expecting wife?" He asked and ignored the overtone of jealousy.

John shook his head. " No, I should be with my junkie best friend right now..." His face expression hardened a bit, he was mad at him.

Sherlock shifted under his gaze unwillingly, and then remembered the syringe. He raised his left arm. There was a little puncture mark, but there were no signs of the syringe.

" It's in the bin if you're looking for that needle... Why did you do it? I thought you moved on with drugs..." The doctor breathed and he looked... disappointed. He cupped his face into his palms and rubbed his cheeks. After a few seconds, he let his arms fall in his lap.  
" You could have called, I would be there to help you with that..." He continued and felt a sting of guilt. He wasn't there for the poor detective when he needed him...  
" What was it?"

The black-haired man shrugged his shoulders as if he didn't care even at the slightest... " I don't know, cocaine maybe..."

John swallowed a bitter comment and looked detective in the eye. " How are you feeling? You don't look well... "

" I'm fine, it's just a headache..." Sherlock told him and rubbed his temples.

The ex-soldier had a feeling Sherlock was lying, but he had no mood for arguing today. " Alright... But tell me when something happens, will you?"

After a little moment of hesitation, Sherlock nodded slightly and resisted the urge to vomit.

 

* * *

 

 

The evening after tomorrow he found his friend laying in his armchair. He was fast asleep, insecure and vulnerable.

John frowned - Sherlock has always been used to the lack of sleep, it really concerned him he slept a lot. His behaviour was really weird these days, he was irritable and annoyed.

His appearance changed too.  
His posture was the first thing which John spotted. It was weird, his shoulders, which seemed to be even thinner than ever before, bowed forward, his scapulae sank down and his spine bent which made his back arch down.  
He seemed to be losing weight right in front of his eyes, his already scrawny figure looked even thinner if it was possible.

And once he spotted a dark bruise on his neck, but then he calmed himself down with an explanation that it was just a game of shadows.

He decided to let him relax and took his brown blanket to cover him up. But then he choked. He knew it wasn't right, especially when Sherlock was sleeping. But it gave him some room to examine the exhausted detective because there was something terribly wrong with him.

He sat down in his armchair and focused his eyes on his flatmate.

He studied his face for a while and he wasn't pleased about what he saw.  
The look into it gave John shivers. Was it possible to lose weight over the night? His marvellous cheekbones poked out of his face more than yesterday, he was sure... The detective has been pale since the year dot, but his skin suddenly lost the rest of its colour.

His full heart-shaped lips pressed together in the tight straight line, the wave of uneasiness and tension radiated from his visage, he had to be in pain.

And his almond eyes were squeezed shut, his heterochromic irises were covered by wrinkled eyelids, dark long eyelashes brushed his high cheekbones.

John's staring was interrupted by Sherlock's stirring. The detective remained to be asleep, but he unwrapped himself from the ball and straightened his long legs. then he rested his heels on the carpet and raised his arms a bit.

This movement caused his grey baggy T-shirt to ride up and expose his trunk.

John gasped for air.

Sherlock's torso was extremely thin. The detective has always been a matchstick, but now he was nothing but a walking skeleton.  
His ribs reminded him of the harp, they could be easily counted as they poked out under his skin. There was no flesh covering them, only a thin layer of skin.  
The balcony of protruding ribs cast a dark shadow at the sagged curve of his fallen belly, it seemed he hasn't eaten for ages! John cursed himself he hasn't been there to remind him he's a human, that he needs to eat, sleep and care about himself a bit.

Then his eyes brushed against Sherlock's lower belly, right under the girth. The colour vanished from his face and his guts squeezed.

There was a huge inflamed splotch right in the middle of his stomach. The blood wildly pulsed under the stain, like the water in the hose.  
The power of the bloodstream made the spot turn to the green-violet bruising, it seemed like spilt coal oil.

The enormous wave of anger swelled inside the short doctor, towards anyone who could do this to his friend.  
It was a horrible view on it and John had no idea what to do.This wasn't normal, something wrong happened...

Suddenly Sherlock moved and John's body stiffened. How will his friend react? Will he be angry with him? Will he shout?  
He calmed down by telling himself it's for Sherlock's good, he needs help...

Sherlock flinched in his sleep and slowly opened his eyes. At first, they blinked sleepily and reflected a confusion, it lasted a few seconds to remember where he is.  
Then he spotted John and he was wide awake, his gaze darkened.

He straightened himself in the seat and froze when he felt coldness lick his skin on his stomach. He bowed down his head and realised his t-shirt exposed his whole belly. He took the hem of the clothing and pulled it down resultantly. He avoided John's gaze as much as possible, but the doctor could be really persistent.

John definitely didn't intend to let it be. He successfully ignored Sherlock's 'don't-even-think-about-asking' glare as he went right to the topic. " What is it on your belly?!" He asked, his voice didn't allow any quibbles.

On the other hand, the detective has never cared about rules. " It's nothing..." He said and his tone signified the conversation was closed. Well, he expected it to end... He supported himself on his knuckles and raised himself upwards. He moved a bit to the left and gritted his teeth to swallow a hiss.

The doctor resisted an urge to howl out loud for Sherlock's stubbornness. Who was he kidding? Did he really think he won't care? " Nothing? Sherlock, it looks like a huge bruise! Did someone hurt you?" He asked and his throat went sore as the most horrible imaginations attacked his mind...

Sherlock frowned and considered his options.  
The first one was telling him everything - it would mean confessing his feelings towards him and admitting the horrible thing which was happening with him. He has never been good with emotions, he wasn't sure if he would be able to do it. He really thought over that alternative - sure, he could lie, it never made him a problem to fib... But not to John, it didn't seem right.

He watched John's left hand run through his silvering blonde hair, which was a sign of frustration and impatience.  
Could it signify that John still cared about him?  
The feeling of being welcomed and liked warmed him from the inside of his body. He couldn't understand how come this fantastic man was able to stand him, to live with him even though he was being warned he's a freak, to tolerate his disgusting experiments...

On the flip side, he didn't find the courage to tell him, he hadn't guts to see the expression of fear or repellent.

Then he remembered that John's expecting the answer to his question and he should reply. He decided to use the option two - he was a coward, but he couldn't let John know.  
" That's none of your business!" He snapped for the appearance's sake, to cover the real reason.

John's eyes narrowed and he felt his blood boil in his veins. As if arguing with the pigheaded detective was the only thing to worry about...  
" Yes, it bloody is! Just look at yourself!" He yelled and fenced with his finger in front of Sherlock's face.  
" This isn't Sherlock Holmes, the Consulting genius! This is some junkie guy, who looks horribly unhealthy and needs help! I almost didn't recognise you, when I saw you two days ago! Deadly pale, cutting angular face, syringe in the bony arm!" The doctor shrieked, his voice reaching the edge of hoarseness. He covered his face with his palm when he felt stinging tears in his eyes, which were the result of concern and anger.

Sherlock took a breath to snap something venomous, but John wasn't done yet. He raised his left hand to shut him up. His other hand slipped alongside his body and he fixed the gaze on Sherlock's sunken belly.  
" When was the last time you have eaten properly? How many pounds have you dropped?"

The detective needed to make John leave, the conversation was getting nearer and nearer to the stuff he wanted to hide from his friend. And he was determined to keep him safe - even at the cost of their friendship.  
" Are you jealous? You've gained seven pounds since the last time I saw you, you look more pregnant than Mary..." He sneered and raised his right eyebrow as if he was daring him to deny it.

John's cheeks flushed red and he folded his arms on his chest. The comment was rude and embarrassing, but he cut it out. He has gained weight, so what? " At least I don't look like a scarecrow! Because that's what you look like, Sherlock! You'll collapse!" He told him straight, his tone only a little bit raised. He didn't want to yell at the skinny man who was exhausted and injured.  
" Are you really so thick to understand that someone cares about you? That I DO give a damn about you?"

Sherlock's heart swelled at those words, it fulfilled with love towards the man in front of him. It was making things much more difficult for him. His throat began to tighten, the coming sob wheezed in his chest.  
" No, you don't! You're only feeling guilty because you've abandoned me because of your mendacious wife!"

" Shut up! You know nothing about her!" The doctor immediately defended his wife. But deep inside, he felt a little doubt. It was a truth that wasn't herself these days.

The detective put on his 'I-know-everything' face which always irritated the short soldier. " I do, in contrast to you... I can see there's something wrong with her, she's lying to you..."

John turned around fiercely, to look away from Sherlock's face. " God, you're acting like a -" He choked and growled instead. His moral standards would never allow him to call his friend a 'freak'.

Sherlock jumped out of the armchair and put his hands on his hips. " Well? Finish it!" He snapped and challenged him to tell him. Maybe it would help, to hear it... After all, it would be the truth...

John shook his head and sighed. " No... I know what you're up to, you're doing the same thing you did before you jumped off that bloody roof! And I'm not swallowing that again..." He said, his voice softened a bit.

" Oh really? I didn't know your tiny brain was able to deduce..." Sherlock said, but he gave up trying. His voice lost all of its bitterness and it sounded bored and tired. All of his insults failed, as it seemed, this man was even stronger than he ever thought. He sat down again and he felt embarrassed for getting heated like that.

The army doctor exhaled and approached the armchair. He bent down and carefully put his hand on Sherlock's pointed knee to comfort him. " I don't need to trot out with brilliant deductions to recognise that there's something wrong with my best friend! ... Just... Stop it... I know you're acting like an arsehole to drive me off, but I'm used to it..." His voice calmed down and for a while, they just remained like that. Each of them was lost in their minds, ordering their thoughts.

" Let me take a look at it, please..." John whispered, his voice was almost pleading.

Sherlock wanted nothing else but tell him. But he was well aware of the seriousness of the situation. He shook his head slowly. " No!... It's... It's okay, I'm fine..."

" Sherlock..."

" Let it be, John... Please..." The Consulting Detective added and he felt his vocal cords tighten - he didn't trust his voice anymore so he decided to shut up.

John stroked his knee and got up so he could sit in his own chair. " As you want..."

After a few minutes, Sherlock got up and headed to the kitchen. His walk was a bit unsteady and he tripped over his own feet once or twice.

He took out two mugs from a cupboard and put them on the unit. He grabbed the box with a coffee and put the brown powder in two cups.  
He took the kettle in his hand and-

CRASH!


	2. Admitting the Truth

 

CRASH!

He froze in the middle of the movement and his grasp weakened. He felt his fingers getting numb, the kettle seemed to be so heavy. It fell out of his grasp and smashed on the floor with a deafening noise.

But he couldn't pay attention to the shattered thing on the ground. His gaze fixed on his left hand, which almost didn't look like his own. It was swollen and inflamed, the blood was wildly pulsating underneath his skin. But it was something different which made him drop the kettle.

At first, it was just a very unpleasant feeling which settled down right above his stomach. But the unpleasantness grew until it became a dumb throbbing pain which started to spread all over his body - up and down.

It was here - there was no point in denying it. Soon it will be over, gone will be his Work, gone will be Mrs Hudson, gone will be his John...   
This was a hundred times worse than the moment at the rooftop. He knew that he won't die for real, he had a hope to see John again.   
This was worse than watching the man of his dreams marry someone else...   
Only the thought of leaving John forever made Sherlock's stomach clutch.

The short soldier appeared in the doorframe, absolutely frightened. It was almost the same expression he wore when he watched him falling from the roof.   
" Sherlock! Are you okay? What happened?" He screamed and rushed towards the kitchen unit to check if his friend was alright.

" Don't worry about it..." The tall man moaned and avoided John's eyes - he wasn't able to look at him without feeling guilty.

Something in his voice screamed 'WRONG'. It lost its cheekiness and sarcasm, it sounded unsure and young. Quite lost. And his appearance only assured John in it.   
" Of course I'll worry about that, Sherlock! You've been acting weird since I came! And this isn't normal!"  
John began to raise his voice a bit and when he realised that, he immediately shut up. He really couldn't understand what was going on with his friend, his behaviour was very weird. What if someone hurt him? He still saw in front of his eyes the huge bruise on Sherlock's skinny torso.

The stream of his thoughts was cut by a painful whimper. " John, please..."  
Sherlock's breath was rapidly growing into the panting, he couldn't control it. His head began to spin, then he leaned forward and supported himself over the kitchen unit.

Hold on... A whimper? Coming out of Sherlock Holmes?! This was serious... " What's going on? Are you sick?" John asked abruptly, his voice scared. He made a few steps closer to him.

The man in front of him began to tremble, he was shaking as if he had a cold. His breathing sounded like he had relieved himself from holding it from the long diving. It was wheezing and choking.

The short doctor didn't wait for anything, he wasn't going to let it be. " I'm calling an ambulance!" He reached to the pocket of his jeans and took out his phone.

Sherlock's heart jumped at that statement and he shivered at the idea John just suggested. It would only worsen the whole situation - they would find out and then he would be presented as a deterrent example. He grasped John's arm with his uninjured hand. " No! Don't... I'll be fine... Please, don't... " He tried to assure him that there's nothing wrong with him.

" Sherlock..." John sighed, unsure of what to do. He knew that Sherlock would recognise when he would have to be transported to the hospital. But he didn't like it, the symptoms were so strange, so scary...   
He will give him ten minutes and then he'll call an ambulance, whether Sherlock likes it or not.

The doctor watched with furrowed brows how Sherlock lifted off his big hands from the unit and waddled towards the chair at the table. His knees shook so much it was a wonder he could hardly stand.   
He sank into the wooden chair and it seemed this small movement made him even more out of his breath.

John bent down in front of him and put his hand on Sherlock's sweating forehead. His eyes widened when his palm met the hot skin. " Sherlock, you're burning... You have a fever... 101.5 Fahrenheit at least... "

The detective rolled his eyes to play down the uncomfortable atmosphere in the room and enjoyed John's comforting touch. " Nonsense..."

The short man frowned as leaned towards him and pressed his soft lips on flatmate's forehead which sparkled with sweat. " You're right - it's 102.."

Sherlock's body shivered and his stomach jumped. This time it wasn't because of sickness, it was John's lips which made him feel dizzy. They were soft and cooling against his heat-radiating forehead. He could wish it would be a proper kiss, full on his pink lips, but he didn't mind - his fast heart was content with this. If this was his last day, he couldn't be happier.   
He closed his eyes and tried to remember the feeling into the tiniest detail...

John pulled out and fixed his worried ocean irises on his poor friend who didn't show any signs of feeling better. Vica Versa, in fact - every spot of Sherlock's skinny figure was tensed in pain.

He was going to put his hand on his knee when he spotted it. " What happened to your hand?" He asked, horrified, and slowly and carefully took Sherlock's violet-green hand in his, which appeared to be even in a worse state than before.

Sherlock gritted his teeth when their skins met and John's fingers grasped his swollen hand.

" I think it's time to tell you..." He said, defeated. There was no way to cover it in front of John anymore. His voice sounded unsure and little scared. It was weird to hear him like that, Sherlock has never shown many emotions.

John saw him in such a state only once - in the pub after Sherlock told him he saw the Hound. He began to draw comforting circles on the back of his inflamed hand with his fingertips. His dark blue eyes mirrored care and a bit of suspicion. " Tell me what?"

" I know what's going on with me..." Sherlock said and suddenly became fascinated with the ground.

The doctor suspected this option, but still... " You knew? Why didn't you say something?"

Sherlock's shoulders sank down and he bowed down his head. " I hoped I was wrong. You have no idea how much I would like to be! But I'm not..."

John's face went gentle, he was prepared for helping his best friend from whatever was bothering him. " Look, if there's anything I can help you with, I will do anything..."

Detective's face seemed dangerously reconciled as if there was no hope for him, it was giving John goosebumps. " No, there's no - well actually yes, there is one thing..."

" What is it? I'll do anything to make you feel better..." The doctor swore immediately and gave Sherlock's bony knee a light squeeze.

The detective felt his heart beat fast, the adrenaline hurried his bloodstream, the pounding in his head was annoying. " I need you to kill me..." He lifted his eyes off the ground and pierced them directly into John's. His voice was perfectly firm and strong, with no signs of quivers.

 

* * *

 

  
The reaction was wild as a volcano - John jumped up off the floor so quickly that Sherlock almost fell off the chair. Suddenly he was standing above him and he understood how John had to feel all the time standing next to him - he had to lean back... " WHAT?!" He yelled and gaped at him with opened mouth.

At any other time the tall man would tell him to close his mouth before a fly will fly inside, but right now wasn't right mood for that... He shrugged his shoulders, the same gesture he used when they were talking about which shirt he should put on. " You've heard me well..." He said as if nothing happened.

Incredulous and enraged doctor bared his teeth. " You've got to be kidding me!" He boomed with an incredibly angry voice. He didn't want to scream at the sick man, but he couldn't stop himself. That git knew whole the time and hasn't bothered himself to tell him! And now that dumb head thinks he'll do such a horrible thing... Yeah, he swore he will do anything, but he hadn't expected this...

The detective hasn't shown any signs of being joking - he looked absolutely serious. " Please..." He said, his voice lowering into a whisper. He knew that he was asking too much, it was so cruel... But he wanted to die by the hand of a person he cared about.

" Absolutely no way!" John snapped shocked at the realisation that Sherlock meant what he said. There was no point in discussing this. Never. EVER!

" But I said please... " Sherlock said, puzzled. Wasn't it what he was supposed to do, when he wanted something? John taught him how to behave - Sherlock always listened to John...

John chortled cheerlessly. That man could be a genius, but when it came to emotions, he was hopelessly dumb... " Sherlock, I don't care how many times you will beg, I'm not doing that!" The smirk hardened and so John's tone.

But Sherlock aced up his sleeve. He knew something John didn't... " You'll have to - otherwise I will kill YOU!" That sentence was hard to think about and even more saying it out loud...

On the other hand, the doctor didn't seem to take it seriously. He folded his arms on his chest and looked at him from above. " Why would you do that?"

Detective's scrawny shoulders bent down even more and he avoided John's gaze again. " Because I'm a freak..."

A shadow of frenzy ran across John's face, the feeling of protectiveness prevailed over the anger. " If someone insulted you, you could let me know - I would give him a roasting! Because you're not a freak!" He growled dangerously and waved his arms furiously as if he was shooing mosquitoes.

Sherlock's eyes lowered it's gaze to the ground and he sighed. " Yet..." His beautiful deep baritone broke in the middle of that word.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dear readers.
> 
> So here's a new chapter, I'm glad I'm done. I'm sorry it's shorter, but don't worry, the next chapter will be soon because I had to split this chapter in two because it was too long.   
> What do you think about it? What are boys going to do? 
> 
> Yours,   
> PaulineHolmes02


	3. Goodbye My Old Self

 

  
Sherlock breathed in to answer but suddenly he began to cough. His body cramped at the fit of the chesty cough, it made him tilt forward and lean his elbows on his thighs. He pressed his hand in front of his mouth, to prevent the spread of infection.  
His heart jumped when he felt something warm and wet on his palm.

John's eyes snapped open when he spotted the dark liquid which was flowing from Sherlock's hand down on the floor.

The detective pulled his hand from his mouth and gasped when he found his palm filled with blood. His body seized in another wave of coughing, his chest contracted and he leaned even more forwards. His balance wasn't able to hold him anymore and he felt himself falling down to the ground.

" SHERLOCK!" The horrified doctor yelled when the detective's body met the hard floor. He sank down on all fours right beside the man.

It was a horrible sight on him. The tall man rolled himself on his stomach, it looked like he was having a seizure. His legs were kicking wildly around him as if he was a little scared colt.  
" J'hn!" Sherlock yelped through the blood in his mouth.

John's eyes bulged out with horror, he didn't know what was going on. It reminded him of the epilepsy attack or something like that. Why Sherlock hasn't told him?! " Sherlock! What the hell is happening? What is it?!" This time his voice refused to allow him to fib - he had a right to know.

The mentioned one raised his head and looked at him with a scared expression. He had a little fight with himself whether he should tell him or not. But he hated the fact that John was worried, he didn't like it. " Kill me... I'm t'rnin' into... into z'mbie..." He slurred through the red liquid which hindered talking.

John felt like fainting. A zombie?! Like that flesh-and-brain-eating creature?! So his bruises were sings of transformati...  
No, he shook his head. It felt like a bad dream, a nightmare... Sherlock had to be feverish, he was babbling nonsense. " You have just imagined that... It's not real... It's going to be alright." He swore with a slightly shaking voice. He couldn't believe that Sherlock would be turning into a zombie - that was just stuff from horror movies and games...

The detective frowned and felt a little offended. But after all, if somebody had told him that he's turning into a zombie, he would scoff at him and sent him to the madhouse... " Why would I've been asking you to kill me if it wasn't real?"

" Sherlock, please tell me that this isn't some kind of your experiments..." He almost begged, begged him to say that it's just a game, a joke...

The detective shook his head and his curls swished around his face " No. It's. Not..." He choked for a while, took a deep breath and clenched his chin. He had to be like a soldier, John would do that too. " Please, do it... It will be a rescue for me... "

The realisation hit John like a lightning bolt. Sherlock wasn't lying. Sherlock was transforming into a zombie. Sherlock expected him to kill him.  
The soldier pressed his lips together and shook his head resultantly, he wasn't going to discuss this. " No!" Who was he kidding?

Sherlock frowned and coughed out another amount of blood. " John, don't make it even harder... " He whined and did his best to get rid of the red liquid from his mouth.

But the soldier wasn't going to give up. " I will find a way to fix this, I swear..." He whispered, but he wasn't sure if he assured his miserable friend or himself.

The detective closed his eyes. " You don't understand what you'll be playing with! It won't be me anymore! I'll turn into a heartless intractable monster! I'll become a doom for England!"

John has always been stubborn, he wasn't going to let Sherlock speak last. " No, you won't..."

Sherlock prepared to protest but wasn't capable of reply, all he could produce was a groan. His forehead clumped with pain, he squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth. His curly head felt too heavy, he couldn't hold it up high - it hit the kitchen floor so hard it made him see tiny stars.

John sat on his heels and leaned over the man on the ground. " Sherlock... It's okay, just breathe..." The doctor mumbled and rubbed Sherlock's hair.

The Consulting Detective almost couldn't hear his best friend through the buzzing in his eardrums.

" Sherlock?"

Strong 'something' gathered inside his body, some invisible power forced his muscles to squeeze and flex. That 'something' increased its temperature rapidly and began to spread all over his scrawny body.

John raised his voice when his friend hasn't reacted. " Sherlock?!"

His thin frame writhed in cramps, pale hands curled into fists so firmly his knuckles went white, his nails dug in his palm - the man was tensed as a string.

The hotness became more and more unbearable and then...  
The detective felt his blood spurt out from his ears, nose and eyes. It felt like an explosion.  
Sherlock arched in his back and howled in agony. He didn't recognise his own voice, he had no idea he could make such a noise.  
His head shot upwards and fixed his red eyes on the doctor as if he was desperately begging him for help.

John's eyes widened in horror at the sight of his best friend and his torso flinched backwards. " Holy shit!" If he was shocked a few times ago, it was nothing compared to what he felt now. His eyebrows flew upwards and his and his mouth opened.

This couldn't be possible, could it? This wasn't real, it's just a trick of light...

But it wasn't - Sherlock looked... different.  
His face seemed all of the flesh, detective's admirable marvellous cheekbones poked from his face more than ever before, the tip of his nose was missing - it bared its gristle. His lips became dry and chapped, the nice pink turned on the dark blackish colour. And across them... were they his teeth?! Sharp fangs poked out of Sherlock's mouth and laid on his lower lip.

A hurt expression ran across Sherlock's deformed face and he bowed his head down to hide from John's view. He knew that he had to look horrible - after all, John was able to stand big amounts of injuries and deformations - it had to be worse than he thought.  
His almost non-existent cheeks flushed which caused his blood to stream away faster. 'Stupid transport!' He said to himself.

John choked and his round face turned white when he realised what he has just done. Then he began to curse himself with the worst swears which came to his sassy mind. Sherlock had a bad time already and now he has to think that John is disgusted and scared of him...  
" Sherlock... It's nothing, you're fine, really... I just got a fright, I'm sorry." The soldier mumbled and he really meant it, he has never wanted to offend his friend.

Sherlock flinched even though the doctor's voice was soft and comforting, but it lasted even half of the second. Then he put on reserved and blank expression.  
His poor body kept trembling all the time, the pain inside him was still growing. It felt as if there was a hot fire inside him and the flames were licking his inner organs.

Then another wave of tension tied his body but this time it was different. His skin ached, it loosened on some parts and otherwise tightened on some places. The tightness was painful and uncomfortable - on his left elbow it stretched into the point of ripping. He felt sharp cutting sensation and he shrieked when the stream of blood flow down his forearm.

Sherlock bit his lip in a shame, John must think of him he's a coward and sissy. He better gritted his teeth to prevent himself from screaming again.

John noticed the detective's discomfort and embarrassment and his heart clenched. Seeing him in such pain, to watch him squirming on the floor tortured him, he shared the agony with him. " Sherlock... It's okay to scream... There's no need to feel ashamed..."

He unthinkingly reached out his arm towards the hurting man on the floor. " You must be in such a pain... Do you want to hold my hand?" He suggested and offered him his palm.

Sherlock lifted his hand to meet John's one, which invited him with his warmness and love. But he froze in the middle of the movement at the sight of his crumpled and deformed claw.  
The skin covering his hand was wrinkled as if he got scalded, scars and bruises 'decorated' his epidermis, sharp claws grew at the end of his long bony fingers.  
He curled them into the fist and pressed it to his chest, to prevent himself from hurting his best friend.  
John would be disgusted by it, even detective himself couldn't stand a glance at his hand. He dragged his arm to his chest.

The soldier gave him a sad face and reached for his limb again. " Sherlock... I don't mind... Just give me your hand..." His warm skin met Sherlock's freezing one - it almost pinched. He stroked gently the back of Sherlock's hand with his fingertips and wrapped his fingers around his palm.

Sherlock curled into a tight ball, he brought his knees as close to his chest as possible and squeezed his eyes shut. The sensation of John's touch made it little bearable, he had no idea what would he do without his blogger.

Another scream found its way from his chest.  
The horrible pain inside his body was unbearable, it filled whole his scrawny body. It felt as if he was being burned to death, standing on the top of the bonfire, the flames licked his skin and left the painful sores where the fire touched his pale epidermis.

Without thinking he strengthened his grasp of his friend's hand and breathed in sharply through the gritted teeth.  
He began to lose control of his breathing so he had to inhale deeply and regularly.

Suddenly the breath stuck in his throat. When he took a deep inhale, his thin skin pressed too much against his prominent ribs. His epidermis was too weak to stand the pressure and gave up. The detective couldn't hold a yelp and he grasped his torso.  
A big rift appeared on his tormented body and the blood started to seep through the baggy grey t-shirt.

John gasped at the sight of expanding red stain on Sherlock's top. " Let me see... I will get some bandage or something..."

Sherlock had no strength to fight with tears of pain so he let them flow. " No... I don't want you to see it. I want you to remember me like a man, not a monster..." He was quite surprised he said that between shivers and emerging sobs.

John uncertainly stroked the black mess of Sherlock's hair, he wasn't sure if the salty liquid ran down his fallen blood-covered cheeks only because of the pain or if there was something different. He didn't still believe that he would kill him, did he? " Sherlock, this isn't goodbye..."

He silenced for a few seconds because suddenly he wasn't able to speak. A big lump plugged his throat and he couldn't gulp. How was he supposed to save his best friend when he didn't trust himself? After all, he was only a mundane doctor, not a genius like Sherlock or Mycroft.  
He had no idea what infected detective's immune system, where did it come from nor how to prepare a cure. The doctor sighed shakily. " Do you trust me?"

Sherlock didn't hesitate not even for the tiniest second. " With my life..." He replied, his voice strengthened at those three words. There was no room for doubt in that tone, the detective meant what he just said.

The warmness caused by the other man's faith spread in John's chest. She has always trusted him, he wasn't only his underling, a matter of course... The doctor nodded, encouraged by the trust. The detective believed in him and he wasn't going to let him down.  
" Then believe me that I will find a way to get you out of it, whatever it takes..."  
John said and drew away a strand of Sherlock's curly hair from the sweaty forehead.

Sherlock stiffened for a while at the unexpected contact, his shoulders froze, but after a few moments, he melted. He was exhausted, the huge blood loss made him feel like a being crushed by the ice resurfacer. He felt his body grow cold, he was freezing. When John touched his hand, it must have been a 5 degrees difference between their temperatures.

A lunatic idea swished through his head. It was crazy but suddenly it seemed like the only right thing to do. The pain obfuscated his brain, he knew that he won't last too long. Only that idea could decrease the agony.  
Before he could change his mind, he leaned forward, still holding John's hand, and fell upon the man in front of him. He slumped himself into John's lap and rested his head on the muscled thigh. " It h'rts, J'hn..." He mumbled to John's jeans.

Now it was John's turn to petrify and Sherlock automatically froze too - expecting a rejection.  
The detective's body was freezing, his skin felt cold even through two layers of clothing.  
He still kept squirming, the energy emitted out of him.

When John woke up from the surprise, he drew poor Sherlock closer to himself and did his best to make him feel as comfortable as possible. He choked when he realised that the ill man was trembling even more than before and his shoulders...  
Oh God, he was crying! Not only crying, Sherlock Holmes was sobbing, the cries of pain cut the ex-soldier in his ears.  
" Shhh, I know... Just be strong, please, for me..." He cooed in a gentle voice he used when comforting patients and caressed Sherlock's shaking back.

Sherlock's frequency of breathing in and out shortened and he was dangerously close to the hyperventilation. " I don't want it, I don't want to be that... thing!" The hysteria in his voice made him sound like a vulnerable kid. He needed to be assured that he will be still LOVED and BEING ABLE to love.

The army doctor brushed his fingers over transforming man's cheekbone. " You'll always be my Sherlock..." The words were spoken very quietly but there were thousands of emotions in it.

The detective sniffed and wrapped his skinny bony arms around John's waist. In ex-soldier's embrace, he felt so safe and happy. When he moved with Mary, he has never felt like home again. But now it didn't matter, because his companion was with him, and held him in his strong arms.

On the other hand, John was confused. He didn't recognise the arrogant, cheeky, 'I-know-it-all' detective, self-proclaimed sociopath. The man who laid on him was miserable and broken, destroyed by the lack of care, drugs and the terrible virus which turned his body.

For a while, they remained in silence, which was interrupted by Sherlock's heavy wheezing breath. At least the sobs quit and fortunately, the pain followed them.  
Two men simply enjoying the last few moments together. But both of them knew that Holmes' time was running out, he seemed to be weaker and weaker.

" I have no idea what to say..." John whispered, still holding Sherlock's head in his lap. The man's lightweight decreased, it was like holding a porcelain doll. The doctor was afraid to move to not hurt him. At least the tremor calmed down, sometimes his limbs flinched but the fatigue took the handle of his exhausted body.

Sherlock raised up his head a bit, as much as his strengths allowed him to. " I do... I hope you won't grow another moustache..." He noted and couldn't hold a slight sneer when he remembered John with his facial hair...

Corners of John's lips tugged with a sign of a smirk. This was a sight Sherlock needed to remember, he just wanted to make his John smile for the last time. His smile always cheered him up, assured him that the doctor liked him the way he was, no matter what they were saying about him.  
But the smile faded away as fast as it appeared.

Detective's face gained more seriousness too as he looked John in the eye. " You don't need to say anything, I heard your speech at my grave... It was so nice to hear that I was important for somebody. And certainly, for the bravest, kindest and wisest human being, I had the fortune to know..."  
The memory of John who was standing at his grave with hunched back and wrinkles in his round face almost gave him a shiver.

" Sherlock, you can't do this, not again..." He let out a hysterical sob. He couldn't believe that this brilliant man will leave him again this time for real.

The consultant let his head fall down again. " I'm sorry... I failed to keep my vow..." He muttered into John's thigh.

John's eyes filled with tears, they glimmered in his beautiful irises like diamonds.  
" No, please, don't do that..." He whispered but his voice betrayed him - the lump stuck in his throat.

Sherlock took a deep breath, this was the last time to say it. " John... There's something I should say... I'd meant to say always but I never have... I... lo-"  
The words froze on his lips and his face turned blank. He wanted to tell him, he always had, but he wasn't fast enough...  
He tried to continue but his eyes closed against his will, the detective did his best to keep them open, but they closed by themselves.

His brilliant mind went blank. He was hanging on the imaginary cliff of memories, but his hands were losing, his fingers slipped from the rock and the man fell into the empty space.

The detective heard the scared 'Sherlock!' and then his heterochromic irises rolled up and his eyelids closed.

His heart stopped beating. The blood which flown away from his fertile body made his skin feel freezing to touch, his always pale tone was turned into the shade of sick greenish because of the lack of haemoglobin. All his body, from the head to the toe was covered by the blood.

John let out an agonising scream, it sounded as if someone was quartering him alive, and his chest fell on the top of Sherlock's back.  
It wasn't his Sherlock anymore, the creature lying on him looked nothing like his best friend.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dear readers,
> 
> Do you feel sorry for our Baker Street guys the same way as me? I'm feeling horribly cruel for torturing them so much, but don't worry, it'll get better, I hope... 
> 
> Please, let me know what you think:)
> 
> Yours,  
> PaulineHolmes02


	4. New Life

Sherlock laid on the cold floor of the flat in 221C Baker Street. It was a lonely place, just like the 'man' on the ground. 

  
One would never say that this was the Only Consulting Detective in the world. The whole similarity which remained was his hair, which curled wildly from his skull and stuck to the sweated forehead. Unfortunately, they have lost their shine, now they seemed lifeless and dry, like wires.

That was the whole likeness of the Once-High-Functioning-Sociopath...

His face lost all of the flesh, it looked so angular that even the skeleton would look more like a human.  
Marvellous protruded cheekbones tightened his sickly-looking skin so much they threatened it to rip out of it, to set free from their painful prison and his nose was missing its tip, the hole exposed the cartilage gape in the middle of the olfactory organ. The cupid-bow lips darkened from their gentle pink to the colour of night, 'decorated' with overgrown pointed teeth.  
And his eyes... Although they were closed, under the eyelids would glare at you blank white irises instead of magical heterochromic ones.

The tall, scrawny body was in a sorry state, covered by the dried blood turned into the maroon-ish colour.

His heart wasn't beating anymore, it made an odd feeling of emptiness inside his chest. Suddenly, the heart was useless, even more than before. That was what he had always thought, but it wasn't quite the truth.  
He was told by everyone that he doesn't have any, but John changed it. He changed whole his world, turned it upside down, suddenly made everything better. He didn't require his love... so what? As long as he was by his side, everything was perfect, much more than he has ever wished.

But the brave soldier was forgotten. To be honest, everything was. The creature had no idea of what his name was, what job he used to do or the fact that he had parents, siblings, relatives, friends... All memories were buried somewhere deep down below his empty mind.

He groaned as he gained consciousness, he wished to be graved in the sweet unknowing again.  
Whole his body was aching, although the soreness was gone, his sick-looking skin itched and inflamed sores burned underneath his greenish epidermis. The wounds were in a state they would heal months and months. But that was something that would never happen...

The creature laid on something cold and hard, the ground felt freezing as the stone pressed to his bare back. The floor was really uncomfortable, it was making his spine stiff and cramping.

He laid in a completely quiet place, the silence was deafening for his ears. His instincts screamed in confusion and fear, he had no idea where he was, he felt vulnerable and exposed. What if there was someone who would be staring at him and wondering about the best way to kill him? The room radiated a lot of negative atmosphere, but somehow it felt a bit familiar to him. As if he has been there before...

He couldn't take it anymore.  
His eyelids snapped open. The white blank eyes opened and met with the darkness in the room. He blinked to clear his sight when he realised that he almost couldn't see. He moistened his eyes again, but it was no use. His vision remained foggy, misty and unfocused, his pupils were not able to focalize properly at one concrete thing.

Sherlock lifted on his elbows, to rise into the sitting position. But he understood very quickly it wasn't a good idea, the sharp pain stormed through his body like a tornado. He couldn't hold a growl.

Something horrible escaped his dark lips. He had no idea that his vocal cords were able to produce such a horrible result, it scared even his own ears. The noise sounded as if someone was trying to quarter him alive, it made him let out a hiss and moan mixed up together.

Then the creature realised that there was something on his tiny wrists. He looked at his arms and his face crumpled with anger when he found out he was captured. Large strong chains attached to his arms and ankles, which held him in one place. He couldn't run away, he was trapped.

At this realisation, the furious yell escaped his mouth, who would dare?! He began to fight with chains which tied him up, he desperately tried to rip them apart, to free himself from the prison. But it was no use, all he achieved was the annoying loud clash which irritated his ears. He was locked, there was no way of getting away.

Sherlock supported himself over his hands and turned around to bent on his knees. From this position, he began to draw on his weak skinny legs. His knees were shaking and he fell several times before he got used to standing. It wasn't perfect, his hunched back was making it difficult to hold a balance.

Suddenly the cracking noise told him that someone joined him.

His head snapped into the direction of the source, I finally found out where the noise is coming from. His blurry vision registered the short man's frame, who came in.

 

* * *

 

 

The scream coming out of the 221C made John Watson take the courage to check out his best friend.  
He would be lying if he said he wasn't afraid. He was, he had no idea why this happened, how could it be possible, but he was determined to help him. Because no matter how he looked like, he was still his Sherlock. The annoying, sarcastic arsehole, who could be nice sometimes, when he tried a little...

He inhaled deeply and opened the door to the lonely flat which had always been abandoned because of the mould caused by the humidity.  
The whole flat was empty, dark and unfriendly, nothing like their messy but cosy one.  
It may be a bit unkempt, with books and pillows forgotten on the carpet and body parts in the fridge... but it's their home... Well, used to be, now he lived with Mary.

John couldn't help but felt so strange in his new flat, the one he shared with his wife. Rooms were too big, too empty, too clean... There were no disgusting experiments in the kitchen, only the food... He didn't have to fear about leaving his laptop on the table in the living room, there was nobody who could unlock his password...

Strange as it sounded, he missed it, everything... Even the thing with the notebook... His life changed from an exciting, adrenaline life to the bored, featureless one. He knew it was bad, they were expecting a baby, he should be happy and support his pregnant wife... But to be honest, he didn't feel the same towards her since the detective came back from the 'death'.

He shook his head, he should concentrate.  
Very slowly and carefully he took the handle of the door of the deepest room in the flat and opened them.  
The small room, the larder, in fact, was cold as the rest of the house. The temperature was very low and the little strains of water flew down the stone wall. No wonder nobody wanted to live there. But John was really grateful for it, it gave him an opportunity to hide his monstrous friend.

And speaking about him, he was standing on his shaking legs, supporting over the wall. It was a miracle they could hold him, they were too skinny...

John gulped and did his best to calm down and not run away. Only the dark silhouette of the creature in front of him made his teeth chatter and his knees started to shake.

But he raised his chin up high and looked at the person in the corner, he was a soldier. " Sherlock..." He whispered softly, careful to not scare him and switched on the light.

The zombie turned around but not because he understood what the man was saying. He let out a horrible ear-ripping squeak as his blank eyes got dazzled because of the light in the room. They may not be as good as before, but the sharp light struck in his pupils.  
The chain rang as he covered his stinging eyes with his claws to protect them from the brightness.

The sound made John cringe, it felt as if the chilling water flew down his spine, leaving the little stream of goosebumps on his back behind it.  
At first, he was so paralyzed that he didn't understand what was going on. All he could think of was the terrible shriek coming out of the corner.  
But when he looked at the way Sherlock crawled into himself, pressed his deformed hands to his eyes and tried to hide from the light, it occurred him!

" I'm sorry, I'll switch it off, alright?" He stuttered but tried to keep his voice sure and clear. He reached out his hand and turned the switch to the off position. " Is it better?" He asked the rhetorical question. He expected that he won't get a response, but still, there's always hope...

He took a deep look at the creature in the corner of the empty living room. It was dark but when he really focused, he could see him quite well.  
Well, maybe it would be better if he hasn't seen him.  
In the darkness, the detective seemed to be even more terrifying than before in their flat.  
Poking out cheekbones were emphasised by the sickly looking green skin and his eyes almost shone, their bright white colour illuminated in the dark.

John shivered, but he did his best to stop the shake. It was his Sherlock, he was seized somewhere inside this horrible nastily-smelling body, confused and scared.

He lifted his chin up high and took a few resultant steps towards the huffy beast which used to be his best friend. He felt tremors in his knees, but he wasn't going to give up, it wasn't his nature to let it be so easy. He took a deep breath and raised his voice a bit. " Sherlock... Are you okay?"

As the man moved and churned up the air in the room, the creature's nose caught the very pleasing scent. His mouth began to drool and his oral cavity filled with saliva.  
Something salty but also very sweet provoked his olfactory receptors. It was a smell of human flesh, blood and sweat.

John's runaway heart began to pound rapidly from the adrenaline and fear. The artery on the side of his throat immediately caught the detective's attention. He kept his eyes fixed on it, the way the vessel pulsed under John's soft skin couldn't be ignored, he wasn't able to tear his gaze apart from the tempting throat. Suddenly it became too much to bear.

Only firm chains detained the tied man on the place, far enough from human's delicious neck. Although it didn't mean that he hadn't tried to escape. He wanted nothing else but satisfy his hunger.  
The creature dashed towards the short doctor and let out the painful shriek when the metal struck into his green skin. But his empty stomach kept demanding for food, so he had no other choice but try again and again.

Fortunately, the detective had never been very muscular, so he didn't have enough strength to rip chains apart. On the other hand, it made the zombie even more furious.  
He threw himself forwards again and straightened his long bony arm towards the doctor.

" No don't!" The doctor yelped when Sherlock's sharp claw almost scratched his skin on the forearm.

The ex-soldier took a small step backwards, ignoring the loud pounding in his ears and chest. He was really lucky, just a few millimetres and...  
" Don't you dare, Sherlock! Please, don't, don't make me do that... You know that I'm really good at it..." He reached out his hand to the pocket and picked up his gun. He hated to threaten his confused friend, but he gave him no choice.  
" I don't want to kill you, and I won't, but you have to cooperate..."

The monstrous detective couldn't understand even one little word John was saying, everything merged up together into simple steady sound. But he spotted something inside man's fist.  
He tilted his head to the left and narrowed his eyes to discover what it was.

The human was clutching firmly some black stuff, his hands reached out in front of him like a shield.  
Sherlock understood it had to be something which could hurt him, the way the other man stood was belligerent and fighting. He didn't want to get hurt so he backed off and pressed his back to the cold wall. He couldn't resist the growl, but his eyes mirrored fear. It was just a flick but John noticed.

The doctor took a step back and relaxed his pose, he dropped his weapon and raised his arms in the give-up gesture. " No, don't worry... I'm not going to hurt you... I would never do that... I'll put it down, but don't attack me, alright?"

The creature's face hadn't changed in the slightest, he was looking at him with suspicion and distrust.

" Do you understand what I'm saying?" John asked, his hope fading away. Sherlock would roll his eyes and say something in the style of 'I know, you idiot...'. But he did not.  
" Just... Just nod your head if you do... Please... " His voice decreased into the whisper.

His begging face met with Sherlock's one which stared at him with blunt expression. Of course, he couldn't understand his speech, detective's brilliant brain was gone. But he believed that he was his best friend, no matter how tiny piece it was...  
  
For a couple of minutes, they just stood in the opposite of each other. The doctor wanted to give him some time to get used to his presence.

Sherlock kept gazing on John's short frame and fixed his blurry eyes on John's fragrant throat and his slow mind filled with daydreams about doctor's flesh.  
The dumb sore pain sat in his stomach, which was empty and starving and Sherlock curled over his middle in order to decrease the unpleasantness.

The doctor noticed. " You must be hungry, do you want me to bring you something to eat?" He asked, forgot again that Sherlock won't reply. He turned on his heel and headed to 221B to grab his friend some food.

 

* * *

 

A few moments later John tried his best to get away from the target of spaghetti made himself two days ago for dinner. As it seemed, Sherlock didn't like them...  
But it was nothing new, Sherlock was picky as a child.

" Come on, Sherlock... They are good, there's nothing inside that could poison you, I swear... Just try it."

The transmuted detective stared at the food with such disgust as if John has served him a slimy slug. The rest of his nose wrinkled and blank eyes narrowed when the brave doctor assured him how well it tastes.

John continued to gaze into the face he knew for years. It seemed familiar yet so unknown... The well-known features of the man he admired were hidden under the nasty smelling shell. Gone was a soft, alabaster skin, gone were his beautiful strong hair, gone was his difficult-to-understand soul...  
The brilliant mind which enchanted him from the first time Sherlock opened his mouth at the lab of the St. Bartolomew's Hospital...  
He felt his guts squeeze at the memory of their meeting, or when they sat at Angelo's.

The doctor got lost in his thoughts so deeply he didn't see it coming. He became too busy with remembering the old times he did not register how Sherlock took a handful of the meal and gripped it tightly in his claw.

The next thing he spotted was the flying portion of Bologne Spaghetti and then...

SLAP!

Spaghetti hit him right in the face and the sauce flowed down his cheeks. John took a sharp breath, preventing himself from exploding, it wasn't Sherlock's fault...  
He ran his hand through his greying hair and took out the handful of pasta.

The tantrum Sherlock threw about the food vanished as he stared at the man covered with red sauce who tried to get rid of spaghetti from his head. The muscles around his white eyes relaxed and there was a flick of something that remotely reminded John of amusement.

" Ha, ha, ha... Really funny..." He snarled sarcastically, but deep inside his heart overflowed with hope. He will do it, he will save his Sherlock at all it costs...

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, dear readers!
> 
> I'm sorry for a little pause, I needed to get some inspiration. So what do you think? Do you think that they will cope with it? I would like to know your opinions. :)
> 
> Have a nice day,  
> PaulineHolmes02


	5. The (Un)Expected Visit

 

  
221B Baker Street was uncomfortably quiet and peaceful. There were no shooting bullets to hear, no annoyed 'BOOOORED' screams, no explosions from the kitchen which caught the attention of people who passed through the street... The house lost its magic, it turned into a cold cell.  
The place was giving an impression of examination and emptiness.

The flat itself felt even more gloomy than the lonely street. John didn't have the heart to clean or fold the stuff where it used to be. Those were things that Sherlock touched, he didn't want to get rid of them. He knew it sounded ridiculous, but they somehow reminded him that there's still a way to fix it.

The whole place was silent, if you had entered in, it would give you an impression of having headphones on your ears.  
The only sound you could hear was little quiet snoring coming out of the living room.

John Watson sat tucked in Sherlock's armchair, his back curled in the unnatural angle. His head laid on the armrest of the padded seat, his mouth opened slightly.  
The long researches left him absolutely exhausted, he didn't sleep a wink in the last few nights.  
He spent the whole week sitting in front of the computer searching on the Internet, walking to the library and trying to think out something in the temporary laboratory which was made from their kitchen.

The atmosphere at home was really uncomfortable, the tension could be felt since John passed through the door.  
Mary was very angry with him, he kept coming home really late and sometimes not at all.  
The couple began to delay, they spent less and less time together, and when they did, the choking fog sat between them. It was different from the times before their marriage.

And John also didn't look the same as the strong cheeky army doctor he used to be, he seemed at least ten years older. His round face lost its cuddlesome cheeks and soft chin, his skin got a sick pale colour, the dark violet bags under his eyes would remind you of a black eye from some rebel fight.  
The soldier's short frame changed too. Bones underneath his at-that-time muscular arms protruded oh his shoulders and his elbows pointed out he would make you a bruise with them.

He has never been a complete beanpole, his lower abdomen always remained to be softer than the rest of his abdominal muscles, especially since the married life. But now that little pooch vanished and his ribs poked out so much he could easily count them.  
He didn't remember the last proper meal he had eaten in the last seven days, but he couldn't afford it right now. He was too busy with making the cure for his transmuted best friend.

 

* * *

 

  
Unfortunately, the tired army-doctor was not given not even a half an hour of relaxation. The doorbell ring echoed through the whole flat and conveyed the entrance of someone. The doctor's bloodshot eyes snapped open and his skinny body flinched so wildly he almost dropped the laptop which rested in his lap. He caught it just in time, which was big luck - he wasn't in a good financial situation to buy a new notebook.  
He blinked quickly and put his computer on the coffee table. He straightened his aching back and hissed when he felt the sharp pain in his lower back. He had a cramp in his neck, from the position he fell asleep.

He hoped it wasn't that person he thought it was. He raised himself up from the comfortable seat and made his way to the hall. His mind couldn't get rid of the fear of being revealed. How would he explain that he was hiding the dangerous zombie in the empty flat, only secured with chains and lock on the door? What would happen with Sherlock?

But he couldn't do anything about it right now, the only thing he could do was pray for him to be silent and not bring attention to himself...

John got his face under the control, inhaled sharply through his nose and took the handle to open the door of 221B. His hopes were smashed and shattered into pieces when he spotted the person who visited him.

On the doorstep, there was a tall, well-built man with a softening body, which was the sign of the sitting job and lots of stressful situations. He leaned over his ever-present indigo umbrella and his face seemed worried. It was a quite strange sight on him, on the Ice Man, emotionless Holmes as his features curled in the concern.

The rest of the colour vanished out of John's face. He knew!

" Ah, Mycroft! Come in..." He forced a smile on his lips, but his tone seemed false even to his own ears.  
The doctor turned around to hide his pale guilty face from ginger's view. He shut his eyelids firmly together and cursed himself into idiots. Mycroft observed ALWAYS EVERYTHING. How big could be the chance of deceiving Mycroft Holmes?

" Thank you, John." Mycroft leaned his umbrella over the wall and took off his coat.

John did his best to calm down his voice and breath and invited the older man to the living room " How is it going in the Government?" He asked in a nonchalant way, to begin the conversation.

The elder Holmes shrugged his shoulders. " Nothing new, we're solving some problems in the British Army and Afghanistan... You know the best..." He noted as he referred to John's military training.

" Take a seat..."

Mycroft just made a few steps and took out gold pocket watches. " Thanks but I'm not going to stay there for long..." He said and checked the time before he looked at the soldier again.

John shifted under man's gaze and turned around to escape his ultrasonic stare. " I'll make some tea and bring some biscuits..." He said as he headed towards the kitchen. He knew it was pathetic to hide and especially from the British Government, but John could not do it anymore.

Mycroft's voice stopped him in the middle of the step and the authority radiating from it made John turn back towards him again. " That would be lovely, but I'm in the need of a diet, as Sherlock likes to point out..." He smirked as he patted the rounding curve of his abdomen. But his silvery eyes searched in John's sunken face for some reason.

The ex-soldier gulped the wave of hysterical laughter which tried to bubble through his mouth. " It's not that bad..." He complimented him and prayed to God to change the topic from Sherlock on anything else.

But his wish wasn't heard. " Thank you... But speaking about Sherlock... Where is he? I have not heard from him for a few days..." The British Government asked and his eyes sparkled with suspicion.

" Um... He's working on the case in Scotland." John blurted the first thing that crossed his mind.

Mycroft raised one of his thin eyebrows. " Without his blogger?" Came the 'surprised' response.

John felt himself begin to sweat and his voice stuck in his throat. " I have to take care of my pregnant wife..." He managed to say, but couldn't hold a flinch at the mention of Mary.

And of course, it paid Mycroft's attention. But what didn't?  
" Then why are you here? Maybe because you two had a fight? Or because you're hiding something? Or should I say, someone? I would say both..." He said, that annoying know-it-all expression on his face.

John clenched his fists, the argument with his wife was still vivid, he saw it in front of his eyes again. " That's none of your business..." He snapped at him and did his best to not break Mycroft's big eagle nose.

" Apologies..." Mycroft seemed to realise that he has gone too far and sighed heavily and looked him directly in the eye. " John... I know what you're doing... I know you're hiding him..."

" I have no idea what you're talking about..." The doctor replied coldly. He tried to cover his uncertainty and put on the innocent face.

The British Government shook his head and smoothed his waistcoat in an indifferent gesture. " You know it very well... Where is he?"

John's back hunched in a defeat. He didn't want to argue with the elder Holmes. " 221C... Is worth my time to ask you how do you know that?"

Mycroft shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. But he did not enjoy showing off today, in such a serious situation. " The raw meat under your fingernails must have been beef. You don't like the beef, you had to cut it for somebody else. You have no pets or children and it's really easy to find out who you are going to feed... You haven't slept for five days and you've lost 10 pounds. Maybe because you're constantly worried about your best friend who just turned into a zombie. "

There was a pause, the silence felt uncomfortable.  
Holmes broke it first. " Can I see him?"

John nodded. " Come on..."

 

* * *

 

  
They entered the flat 221C, into the cold place where nobody wanted to live in. The freezing feeling enclosed them and sent chills down John's spine. There was an odour of mould and something else.

And in the corner...

Stood a horrible creature attached to the wall with a strong firm chain. Sherlock, in fact...  
He was still tied up, but he gave scary thoughts about what would happen if he gets out of that. He was fighting with a chain, trying to escape from the prison.

John could not help but flinch at the sight of what was left of his friend. He saw him multiple times, but every time he walked in, he got scared. He felt so bad about it, it wasn't Sherlock's fault that this happened to him.  
He looked at his transformed detective again and gave him a little encouraging smile. " Hi, Sherlock..." He greeted him as if he was still human.

The monster fixed his blank eyes on the short soldier and his nostrils widened as he inhaled sharply his scent. When the nice smell met his nose, he curled his black lips to bare his pointed sharp teeth. He was demanding for food.

John's smile fell a bit. There were no signs of understanding or recognition in his dull face, but at least he wasn't as wild as in the last few days. " Of course, it's feeding time... Look what I have brought you for dinner!" He said and took out the plastic bag with cut beef.

Sherlock's white blank eyes shone with demand, he was so hungry. All the time, his stomach kept rumbling, he felt the emptiness inside it. But he could not have what he really wanted. The food John was giving him filled his belly a bit, but it wasn't enough. His body was demanding for something else.

Mycroft stood in the doorframe and watched his baby brother gobble with the raw meat. He couldn't understand that this body, which curved in a seizure as he kept feeding his stomach on the beef. As if he attempted to make some kind of record - in how fast he can eat everything John has brought him. It was a miracle that he did not get choked.

When the zombie finished his meal, the man sighed and ruffled his dwindling dark red hair. " John, I've seen enough... There's no point in this..."

The tone in Mycroft's voice made the soldier turn around to gaze at the man and his face crumbled as he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion and suspicion. " What do you mean?"

The British Government shifted his weight to his left foot and that gesture seemed so uncharacteristic for him. " You won't save him, it's impossible... He's worse than a wild animal..." He said, sounding bit miserable.

" There's nothing impossible for Sherlock..." The doctor shook his head and his frown deepened. What did Mycroft think he was doing?

Mycroft's long pale fingers curled into fists and his broad shoulders tensed. " John, you don't know what you're playing with, I heard about this virus. It will do damage to the whole land if it spreads! There's no cure for it, no one ever found out the way to heal that..."

" I will find it! I'm working on it, I'll find a way to get him out of that..." John proclaimed, remembering the promise he gave Sherlock before he transformed.

The elder Holmes raised his voice, how come John didn't understand? " And did you make any progress? John, so many scientists were working hard to find a cure and they DIDN'T! How big is the chance that you'll make it, hm?"

John ruffled his hair in frustration and his face reddened with rage. " I'm trying! I'm sure that he's still there. I believe that he's hidden in that horrible body..." He barked as he pointed on Sherlock.

" No, he's not! It's just an empty corpse, a creature without heart nor soul!"

" You're wrong! Just watch us!" John snapped and his voice gained a certain tone. They had to do it, they were 'just two of them against all world'. He made a few steps forward, closer to the tied creature.

The doctor was scrunching his own fingers in a nervous gesture, but he did his best to steady his voice. " Um Sherlock, I'm not sure if you understand what I'm saying, but I'd like to praise you for your behaviour... I know it's really hard for you, for both of us, but I'm sure we can do it, together......" He was well aware that Mycroft was looking at him, but he couldn't stop his blabbering mouth.

The monster remained silent. He didn't even bat an eyelid, he stood there like a nervous statue. His body radiated energy which tried to escape with his anger, but he managed to keep it inside. For now...

" I still believe that you're here, no one will ever convince me that you're not... I swear I'll make it alright..." The doctor promised and took another step and tried to ignore a horrible growl coming out of the zombie.

No matter how scary the creature groaned, the soldier wasn't afraid. " Don't worry, I'm working on the cure, I'll heal you from this..." He told him with a calm tone and he smiled.

Then he pointed on the man beside him. " And I wanted you to see your brother, you know? Do you remember Mycroft?"

John was now standing on the length of his arm from him. " Do you know who I am? Do you remember me?" He asked with a heavy heart. He took a deep breath and looked him the face.  
The dumb empty eyes were staring at him. Well, he wasn't sure if he was looking at him or somewhere behind him, but he was calming himself it was his face he gazed on.

" I'm John, John Watson... Your blogger and best friend... We've first met during the 'Study in Pink' case... You healed my psychosomatic leg... I shot that geezer, that crazy taxi driver who tried to kill you..." His voice kept breaking as he spoke. He blinked a few times and decided to close the distance between them.

As he stood in front of Sherlock, he smelled a disgusting odour of the fish or something like that. It was sticking him in his bulbous nose, but he overcame the not-so-nice scent and fought down an urge to vomit.  
" And you're the most brilliant and important person in my life... You're the Great Sherlock Holmes, the Only-Consulting-Detective-in-the-world! You helped so many people to prove guilty horrible murderers... You saved me, I owe you so much. You've never deserved this..." He couldn't take it anymore and few sobs escaped his throat.

" Please, tell me you remember all of this... Please... Speak to me at least... Say something..."  
John held his breath and slowly reached out his hand, careful not to scare him. He put his hand gently on a monster's forearm and brushed his fingertips over the zombie's greenish skin. It was freezing to touch, the coldness of it felt almost burning.  
" Please, Sherlock... I beg you... Do something to show me that you understand what I'm saying..."

Mycroft couldn't stand John's unsuccessful attempts to bring Sherlock back, so he took a deep breath and prepared himself to hear some not-good insults. " It's not easy to ears and you have no idea how hard it is for me to tell this, but I need to... to save you and the whole of England..."

John understood immediately what Mycroft insinuated. His eyes widened and filled with rage as he fixed them on the tall man who was a head taller than the short furious ex-soldier. " Save? SAVE?! It's your brother, for f*cking God's sake! Your blood, your SIBLING!"

Mycroft folded his hands on his hips. " It WAS my brother... John, he has no idea who we are. That's why I'm here, I'm going to help him. Trust me, it will be a rescue for him..." He said calmly, but he knew that John will explode.

And he did... " HOW CAN YOU EVEN SAY THAT?! THEY ARE RIGHT ABOUT YOU, YOU'RE AN ICE-MAN! YOU HAVE NO HEART!" John roared, his voice loud with temper. That bastard couldn't be serious, could he?

Mycroft closed his eyes. " John, I..."

But the doctor didn't let him finish and butted in his attempt to calm him down. " HOW CAN YOU EVEN LIVE WITH YOURSELF?! You know, maybe it didn't seem like that, but he always admired you! He always spoke about you like you're the most intelligent person he knew and he trusted you so much! That's your reward?" He kept yelling until he almost screamed out his vocal cords.

Mycroft put on a pleading tone, something he used very specially. " John, I just don't want him to suffer... Because he's still my baby brother and I'd like to help him... I would give everything I have to make a cure to fix this... But I don't know what to do - I want to protect England but at the same time I want to save my little brother..." His voice broke down on the last word.

" Bullshit! You're just trying to look like a saint one..." John spat venomously. He didn't believe him a single word the man said...

" If I didn't care about him, I would never kidnap you the first we met. I wouldn't offer you money for telling me how is he going..." Mycroft paused for a while before he continued. " I made a lot of mistakes in my life and I hate myself for it..."

John let out one of his dangerous chuckles, those which preceded a punch in the nose.  
" You should! God, you ruined his life with that Moriarty case! None of this would happen if you wouldn't tell that crazy criminal all information about your OWN brother! He would never jump from that bloody roof!"

Suddenly Mycroft lost his temper, he didn't know what to do, and he hated not knowing. " AND WHAT DO YOU THINK I SHOULD HAVE DONE? It had been an only way to make him speak, to get him!" He wanted John to understand, they avoided this conversation for so long...

Soldier's tanned hands started to shake in anger, he was beginning to lose control. One another stupid sentence and he will break Mycroft's jaw.  
" But he was FRIGHTENED! I know it sounds unrealistic, but he was! You could at least tell him what's going on! They have marked him as a liar! They called him fake! I have no idea how he survived that fall, but I'm sure he did it because of your stupid plans!" He gripped belt loops to prevent himself from hurting the man in front of him.

" You're wrong... There were other ways to trick Moriarty, which didn't involve his 'death', but he chose to die embarrassed and marked as a fake because was protecting you!" Mycroft declared significantly, saying something which was concealed for so long.

That statement pulled the rug from underneath John's theories. Protecting him? The thought of protective Sherlock Holmes sounded pretty absurd. But on the other hand... He remembered the shock in his eyes when that theorist pointed his gun to his temple and demanded the code. Or the way he rushed to him to strip the dangerous bomb attached to his torso...  
He wasn't able to speak right now. He was completely dumbfounded by the new information.

Mycroft made of the use of the silence to afford a new option.  
" We can make an agreement...You'll have a month to find out a cure for him... He'll be declared as dead.  
We will publish a statement that he died... I'll prepare a funeral for him... And he'll stay here, hidden away from the world. No one can know..."

" And then what?" The soldier asked, his throat suddenly tightened. The lump sat on his windpipe at the thought of killing his best friend, even though he was stuck in that horrible body.

Mycroft lowered his gaze on the floor. " We both know what..."

" But..." John shook his head to clear his mind so he wouldn't do anything he would regret later. He raised his chin and fixed his oceanic eyes to the silver-ish ones. " Okay... I can do that... I swore him to turn him back to normal!"

The redhead exhaled and his shoulders sank a bit. " I wish you good luck... If you need any ingredients or chemicals, let me know. I'll get them. " He promised.

" Thank you, that's so generous of you..." John snapped sarcastically and opened the door of the larder to insinuate that Mycroft should go.  
Mycroft understood that he's not welcomed anymore, so he took a last glance at his brother and then nodded at the short doctor, but his gesture met with John's lips pressed together, a sign of anger. He turned around and left the room.

John waited for him to leave and then he allowed himself to lean on the wall and sank down on the cold floor, his face in his hands. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, dear readers!
> 
> Are you angry with Mycroft? Or do you sympathise with him? I understand that it's hard for him, for all of them. What do you think? I hope you like it :)
> 
> Yours,  
> PaulineHolmes02


	6. Vatican Cameos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you know what day is today? It's 19th July, which means that Benedict Cumberbatch has birthday!  
> So, dear Benedict, I wish you happy b-day, lots of love, happiness and health and success! Love you!

After another failed cure John cleaned the kitchen and decided to hide in 221C with his friend, he couldn't stand looking at the flat where he used to live with him. Everywhere he glanced, he saw Sherlock.

When his eyes brushed the wall, he saw the bored detective shooting the smiley face drawn on the wallpaper...  
When he stood in the kitchen, he saw Sherlock's disgusting experiments...  
When he sat in his armchair, he saw Sherlock sitting opposite him...  
There were just tiny details - like an expensive shampoo, Sherlock's favourite mug, the skull Billy - which made his stay even more painful.

The flat felt cold, empty and lonely, the cosy friendly atmosphere was gone. Suddenly it was too big, too unknown...  
And before batting an eyelid, John became homeless. An emotional homeless, to be clear. He felt like he belonged nowhere.  
The feeling of uselessness hit him like a Tsunami wave. He wasn't a good friend, he wasn't there for Sherlock when he needed him the most. He wasn't a good husband, he was too busy to embrace his pregnant wife and snuggle her closer to his chest. He wasn't a good doctor... If he was, he would have healed Sherlock already and everything would be okay!

John leaned on the kitchen table and stopped the sob which tried to escape his throat. He had to get out of there, otherwise, he'll go mad.

He ran out of the 221B and made his way to the flat beside. The doctor took out keys and opened the old door. Hinges cracked and the man stepped inside.  
He didn't go to the larder, to visit the transmuted detective, all he wanted was to be alone. He leaned on the wall and sank down to the floor.  
The back of his head met with the cold plastering and he closed his eyes in little relief. The cool sensation was comfortable, it calmed down his headache a bit. The seconds passed and the doctor felt the cells of his limbs relax, one by one, and in a few minutes, he fell in the restless sleep.

 

* * *

 

  
" Oh, there you are... How come I didn't think of that sooner?"

John's eyes snapped open at the sudden voice above him. It was a female voice and the wave of disappointment hit John like a punch in the face. It simply didn't feel right. It should be a deep honey baritone, soft voice saying his name...

Suddenly John woke up completely. What if she will find out?! He swore to not tell anyone. He had to get her out of there, to the safe distance from Sherlock.  
Mary wasn't the same, she was so different from the woman he married. And John didn't trust her enough to tell her what bothers him and his friend.

" M-Mary?! What... What are you doing here?" He stuttered, his mind working on 200% as he tried to think out what to do.

Mary folded her hands on her hips and glared daggers at him from above. " I came to talk to my husband... Am I forbidden to do this?" She said in hard voice and tilted her head to the right as if she was daring him to fight with her.

" No, of course, you're not... I was just a bit surprised..." John said and really meant it. He really cared about his wife, even though she was acting differently. He rose up from the floor.

The expression of the blonde woman did not change. " Surprised that you have a wife?" Maybe it hardened even more.

John ruffled his greying hair and sighed in a defeat. "Are we really having this conversation right now?" He asked and closed eyes, God he was so tired. He wasn't in the mood to talk or argue.

" You hardly speak to me!" Mary screamed, furious. The doctor understood her, she was full of hormones, it was an absolutely normal symptom in pregnancy.

John immediately tried to calm her down and make it okay as soon as possible. He didn't want to lose her too. " Mary please, just... What would you say about we just sit down in the living room and talk about it? I have something for you..." At his way home from work he bought a present for her, he really wanted to apologise.

Mary crossed her arms over her chest, her expression as if she had eaten a pickled gherkin. She was waiting for an explanation.

John let out a deep sigh. This wasn't an easy conversation to make, it meant that he will have to lie to her. He swore Mycroft that he won't tell anyone, and it consisted even his wife. The doctor leaned over the wall again and began.  
" Mary, I'm sorry for being late and everything... It's too much for me now and I don't know what to do... The truth is, that Sherlock is in the hospital in Scotland..." He 'admitted' the thing both men decided to say to others. He has a month to prepare a medicament and turn the zombie back to Sherlock.

Mary pressed her hands to her mouth and her eyes widened in shock. " What?"

" I... I found him with a syringe in his arm... He overdosed himself..." Technically speaking, it was not a lie. When he found him that day, he thought it was too late, Sherlock seemed so vulnerable and small.

" That BASTARD! God, he won't stop making you suffer!" Mary suddenly exploded. The soldier wasn't sure if he heard right, but he would bet that her voice filled with hate.

He immediately felt a huge urge to defend his best friend at all it costs, it wasn't Sherlock's fault... " No, it's my fault... I didn't visit him for a quite long time and... he had to feel... so lonely... I swore him that nothing will change between us after the wedding... But then I... abandoned him..." John's throat tightened because he meant everything he said. In the past months, he wanted to visit him so badly, but he was so busy. He knew that it must have sounded like an excuse - and there was no excuse for leaving his friend in the gutter.

Mary frowned and her blue eyes turned piercing. " What do you mean 'between us'? Did you have something with him?" Her tone hardened and John knew it very well.

" Oh, Mary... Please, don't be like every girlfriend I had... There's nothing between me and Sherlock... Not that thing you think... He pulled me out of shit, I was in the gutter when I came back from Afghanistan... Sherlock pulled me together..." The ex-soldier whispered, remembering the times before that stupid Reichenbach case.

Mary made a few steps towards her husband, the negative energy radiated from her skin. He knew what her words won't be nice. " Are you going to blame me for not being there for you? I didn't know you, John! And it's not my fault you became friends with that psychopath! No wonder he overdosed himself because he's not normal!"

The last two sentences made John's blood boil in his veins and his face reddened in anger. " Don't you dare call him psychopath!"What did she think she was?! It was his best friend, sometimes he felt the detective was even closer to him than his own wife.

The woman started to laugh and her dark laughter stang the doctor in his ears. " Then what is he? He stored human body parts in the fridge! He shot walls at two o'clock in the morning! He was turned on by crime scenes! For God's Sake, what is he then if not a psychopath?" She almost screamed at him.

John could not take it anymore. No one will insult Sherlock Holmes. Not on his watch. " Shut up! I... I just told you my best friend is being hospitalised and this is your way to comfort me? Insult him and tell me he deserves it? I underestimated you... I thought you were..." His voice slowly faded.

" What? Did you really think that I would marry you because I love you? That I would want to have a child with you? God, don't be so stupid, John..." She burst into crazy laughter, her voice mocked him.

John felt like fainting as if she had pulled the rug under his feet. His happy life faded away like a fog, he felt trapped in his own body.  
She was pulling his leg from the day he met her. She was lying to him, she has faked the comfort she gave him when he thought Sherlock was dead. She has never loved him, she married him, even though she did not feel anything towards him.  
Then a horrible thing occurred him - does it mean that she's not pregnant at all? She still wasn't showing and she was already in the third month of pregnancy... There was no baby inside her, everything has been a huge nasty lie!

" Why did you marry me then?" He wheezed.

The traitor shrugged her shoulders as if nothing serious has happened. " Because I needed protection... They were after me, police... And you were a good place to hide..." She said conversationally.

John had a feeling as if he was hit by a baseball bat, the world around began to spin and his stomach turned, he wanted to vomit. " What are you?"

" Something you wouldn't understand with your tiny brain..." Mary shot him with a disgusted glare as if he was some mess on the toilet seat.

Was he really so stupid? Was he so dumb that he didn't see it? How come he didn't realise that she has never loved him?  
It was too much for him to take. He turned around and wanted to storm out of this hell, to run to the bathroom and throw up the contents of his stomach. He made it only towards the door.

" Halt!"

John froze. Suddenly he could not move, he stood there like a statue. Not only because this was a military order, but there was another sound. He heard a click of loading gun.

" Don't move, don't speak, just listen..." The blonde assassin growled and made two steps closer, pointing her gun on her husband.  
" You won't tell anyone... You won't stand in my way... If you will, I'll find you anywhere... You won't hide from me... Am I clear?"

Her hard voice was the only thing that could be heard, except for John's erratic breath. He was petrified, the order triggered the stream of memories from Afghanistan. He saw his friends dying, unable to help them. His heart clenched when he realised that Sherlock was almost one of them. He was running out of time and ideas on how to help him.

" Answer me when I'm talking to you, or I'll shoot your head off!"

And then the pair of thin arms wrapped around Mary's waist and lifted her in the air. In the next second, she was thrown away, towards the corner and with the loud thud, she fell on the ground.

 

* * *

 

 

Sherlock was sitting on the floor when he heard a loud voice coming out of the flat.

He had no idea where did that feeling come from, but suddenly he could not resist an urge to protect the man who kept taking care of him. That feeling felt so familiar and so unknown at the same time... Suddenly a flick of flashback ran in front of his eyes.

_He was being strangled, a huge man held his throat and pressed him against his tall skinny body. His breath was fading and his head pounded with a headache._

_' Let him go, or I swear that I'll shoot you!" John screamed and his knuckles went white as he gripped firmly the gun in his hands._

Hold on for a second... John? Who was John? How come he knew the human's name when he first saw him a week and a half ago?  
But the creature found the name really nice, it was short and apt.

  
Then he heard that voice he got used to in the last few days, it belonged to the man who was taking care of him. John... It sounded angry. He knew what anger felt like.

And there was another, it wasn't on the same height as the first one, it was higher. And much more angry, dangerous.

Danger... His human was in danger!

The wave of temper stormed through Sherlock's crumpled body, how dare that unknown human endangers his John?!  
The rest of his muscles flexed against the chains tied around his wrists and tried to set free from the prison.

Another scream.

He tried again, this time with much more strength, ignoring the pain when the metal struck into his skin. The chain was very firm and strong, for a good reason, to hold him in one place. But now, it did not seem to be for the best.

But the zombie wasn't going to give up and gave everything he had to escape from the chain. He leaned forward with his weight and then...

Finally, he heard a ripping sound of metallic bonding rope and fell down on all fours. Gray bracelets rested on his hands, but the chain broke. He was free.

Sherlock started to run towards the door and joggled with them to force them open. The adrenaline pulsated in his veins and gave him the strength to knock them down.

He had to save John...

 

* * *

 

 

John's eyes grew wide as he watched his wife laying on the floor. What happened? How?

He tore off his gaze of Mary's lying figure and raised his eyes further to the flat. His breath hitched in his throat.

" Sh-Sherlock?"

Suddenly, something in Sherlock's head clicked switched on, everything fell to the right places.  
It hit him with such a power his knees buckled and he hit the ground. John's voice echoed in his head, the combination of amazement and fear. Why did he sound like this? Was he scared of him?

" H-how did you get out?" Yeah, he was definitely afraid of him.

The memories of that evening knocked him down like a train, now he understood. He was still alive ( well, alive... Technically speaking, he was everything but a living creature...), which meant only one thing. John didn't have the heart to shoot him, he turned into a monster...

The responsibility laid on John's shoulders now, and it put its sign on him. The poor doctor seemed to be in such stress, he lost 11 pounds since he last has seen him, the seven pounds he put on after the wedding was gone. But the truth was that Sherlock didn't mind then, he said those harsh words only to send John away, so he wouldn't see him transform. It was already painful to think about what was happening with him and letting John watch him struggling and crawling on the floor like an injured animal.

It was horrible, he should have tried harder to repel him, John was now the only one who knew (except Mycroft, Sherlock guessed) and everything was left on him.

He looked up in John's tired face with dark bags under his nice oceanic eyes and in that time he wanted nothing else but throw his arms around John's neck and embrace him, so miserable he looked...

But his limbs didn't obey his orders, he was just bending on the floor, staring at his exhausted friend. John was returning his stare as if he had seen him for a very first time. And then Sherlock made something which made him smile.

" Jooooooooooohn..." His voice sounded horrible - harsh, incredibly low and misty - so much that it was giving John chills. But at the same time, his the corners of his lips twitched and curled upwards, and salty beads formed in corners of his blue eyes.  
The doctor made a few steps closer to the zombie and bent down in front of his friend.

" Sherlock... What should I do? I don't know!" John whispered and grabbed the detective's bony wrists. His voice sounded desperate and droplets of tears flowed down his fallen cheeks.

Sherlock flinched at the sudden contact, John's tanned skin felt hot against his. It was really comfortable, but he didn't trust himself enough to let the doctor touch him.

But he was running out of time, he felt the 'monster' side of him was taking its control over his body again, so he pulled out to the more safe distance.  
" Vat... Waaahticaaan cam... caaame's..." He wheezed, looking directly to the soldier. He didn't know how he looked like, but he hoped his face seemed to beg. He was pleading John to help him, to save him from this dull prison which happened to be his own body.

John's eyes welled, they couldn't hold the wetness inside them anymore. The creature on the floor looked up to him as if the doctor was some God as if he could heal him in no time.  
And those words... Vatican cameos... He was begging, he pleaded him to get him out of the zombie form!  
There was nothing John would like to do more, but he didn't know-how. HOW?!  
His life relied on him, the responsibility was in his own hands.

He couldn't take it any longer and buried his head in his hands. " I'm sorry, Sherlock... I'm so sorry... I should have shot you... I know you're suffering so much, but I couldn't do it... I'm a coward... And I can't even now..." His voice broke on the last words and tears streamed in rivulets down his skin.

" I wish I was more clever... I would heal you and everything would be okay... You could do it because you're the most brilliant person in the world... But what am I compared to you?" His shoulders were shaking with sobs, his short frame seemed so fragile right now.

He tried to get rid of pearls on his cheeks, so he could glance at Sherlock and his lips curled downward, seeing him as this felt like a kick to the stomach. " Forgive me, please... Forgive me that I'm slow and stupid, but I can't do it... I don't know how..." His vocal cords were failing, some words were not spoken. Another amount of tears appeared in his lacrimal glands.  
" I'm not that smart to do this..."

 

* * *

 

  
Sherlock was dying inside. His human mind was leaving, even though he did his best to hold it firmly. But it wasn't possible, as if he tried to catch the air with bare hands. Memories and feelings passed through his fingers like a thick fog.

His vision was blurry, but he wanted to see the man in front of him. Even though he was crying. On the other hand, his smell was much better than ever, nevertheless, he wished it wasn't. The tempting scent of meat, which was radiating from John's skin, kept sticking him in his nose and it was filling his mouth with saliva.

He wanted to come as close as possible to him, to embrace the poor human in the hug, to tell him that everything will be fine... But he couldn't, his body wasn't obeying.

' I'm not blaming you, John...' He wanted to say, but he couldn't.

' There's nothing to forgive...' He longed to tell him, but something was ruining his attempts.

' You're everything for me...' He tried to whisper, but his mouth didn't allow him to say a single word.

  
But he wasn't going to give up, he won't leave John when he was given a chance to survive. This thought was the last one he saved in his Mind Palace before he fell in the dumb darkness again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello guys!
> 
> Sorry to the fans of Mary, but I can't help myself, I simply hate her. Are you proud of our protective Sherlock as much as I am? Please, let me know what you think:)
> 
> Yours,  
> PaulineHolmes02

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, dear readers.
> 
> Welcome to my new story. I hope you will like it. I'm not sure how it's going to develop, but let's hope it goes well.   
> If you're curious how it's going to continue, leave me kudos and comment, please please please :)
> 
> Yours   
> PaulineHolmes02


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